A Fine Line

~ August Round-Up Challenge ~

By Bakerj

~~~

I didn’t lift my gaze from the floor as I waited for the shadows to lengthen.  How long had it been?  Heck, probably only minutes since the sheriff locked us up, but my chest was so tight it felt like hours.

The sun through the window slashed a square of light across the swept floor.  Our new sheriff ran a tight ship.  Beds made and buckets emptied.  Did those high standards apply to the rest of his job?  Since he threw us in jail while carrying out his investigation, I guessed so.  But that investigation would lead only one place.  And it wasn’t the right one.

I ground my knuckles deeper in the mattress beneath me.  Cracking jokes at the expense of others wasn’t a habit of mine—although I did laugh a little too often at Hoss.  And I had thought that mean wasn’t in my nature.  But I’d been wrong. 

When that greenhorn burst through the bat wing doors, I’d almost spat out my mouthful of beer.  Boy, the mercantile sure saw him coming—new hat, shiny boots, and the fanciest gun belt I’d seen.  Poking Rob in the ribs, we’d sniggered as he ordered a whiskey in that Eastern accent. 

I doubled over laughing every time Rob let loose with a jibe, even throwing in a few of my own.  Just a bit of fun, right?  Until the man pulled his gun.

In the next cell, Rob shifted on his bunk.  I didn’t look up.  Nothing I could say would change anything.  It wouldn’t put the bullet back in his gun or bring the greenhorn back to life.  And it wouldn’t wipe away the guilt that roiled in my gut.

“Aww… quit worrying.  We’ll be out of here soon.” 

Rob’s words squeezed my fingers together into tighter fists.  Getting out wasn’t the plan. 

“That’s always been your problem, Little Joe.  Worryin’.  About what your Pa thinks or your brothers.  That ain’t right.  Now, look at me.  I don’t worry about what anyone thinks.”

No kidding.  From the day we met, Rob had always ridden loose in the saddle.  I had always liked that.  Why?

“What’s the matter with you, anyways?”

I drew in a long breath.  “It was our fault.”

Sitting up, Rob swung his legs off the bunk.  “You serious?  We were only playing around.”

“We pushed him too far.”

“Oh, c’mon.  If a fella can’t take a joke—”

My gaze snapped to his.  “We should’ve backed off.  I should’ve backed off.” 

Rob snorted and rolled his eyes.  I turned away.  Flopping back, he linked his hands behind his head.  “Heck, you Cartwrights.  I knew it’d catch up to you one day.  All that lousy conscience and responsibility.”

Snapping upright, my hands wrapped around the bars between us.  I wished they were him.  “We killed a man!”

Rob lifted his gaze to mine, and I looked into the eyes of a stranger.  “Correction.  I killed a man.  You ain’t got the guts.”

I turned, hearing the sheriff return.  There was only one thing coming.  Self-defense, he’d tell us, and those cell doors would fly open, and we would walk free. 

And it’d be my fault.  I didn’t open my mouth once during the walk to jail, while Rob swore over and over he’d had no choice.  

Except for one problem.  Since the greenhorn had been standing with his back to the rest of the saloon, no one else saw what I had.  The surprise in his eyes when he’d pulled his gun.  The acceptance when I argued a few stupid jokes weren’t reason enough to kill a man.  The way his hand had begun to drop.  No one else had seen it—except Rob. 

Pa always said whatever choices a man made, he should still be able to look at himself in a mirror.  Good job there weren’t any mirrors in here.

The inner door swung open, and Sheriff Coffee walked through.  Still stretched out on his bunk, Rob hadn’t moved.  “Looks like it’s your lucky day.  Everyone else backs up your story.  That fella drew first, and you were just defending yourself.”

I sucked in a breath.  “Sheriff, wait.  That’s not what happened.”

Rob pushed up on his elbows.  His brown eyes, granite hard, fixed on me. 

Sheriff Coffee gave me a long look.  “Why don’t you tell me what happened then, Son?”

My friend’s gaze burned into me, but I told the sheriff everything.  “So you see?  He wasn’t gonna shoot anyone.”

Rob jumped up and grabbed the bars between us.  “Little Joe, you got it all wrong.  If I hadn’t drawn on him, he’d have killed you.”

Shaking my head, I turned to the sheriff.  His eyes were on Rob.  “That might be true, and then again it mightn’t.  But the fact is all the other folks say the shooting was self-defense.  And that means you’re free to go.”

The keys clanked in the lock, and the door swung open.  Rob stepped out and slipped his hat onto his head.  “I thank you for the hospitality, Sheriff.”  With a grin, he waltzed out the door.

Sheriff Coffee turned back to me.  “I’m sorry, Son.  But I had nothing to hold him on.”

I lowered my head and nodded.

In the street, Rob was waiting.  Grabbing my arm, he dragged me into the alley down the side of the jail.  “What was that?  We’re friends, ain’t we?  Friends back each other up.”

“How could I?  For God’s sake, he was lowering his gun.”

“How many times?  That ain’t what happened!  Think about it.  You’ll see I was right.  C’mon, let’s grab a beer.”

The idea of a beer soured my stomach.  Pulling free of Rob’s grasp, I shook my head.  “I’m gonna head home.”

Rob dropped his hand onto my shoulder and squeezed.  “Okay.  I get it.  Next time.”  Striding down the boardwalk, he turned, gave me a brilliant smile, and waved.  “See you around, Little Joe.”

He wouldn’t.

~ The End ~